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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961840">Dreams of (Re)birth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_dorkula/pseuds/lady_dorkula'>lady_dorkula</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Batjokes, Blood and Gore, Bruce is not mentioned but his presence is implied, Character Study, Drabble, Dreams, Injury, It's a dream sequence so nothing's as it seems, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Or Batman's at least, Or Is It?, so many metaphors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:28:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_dorkula/pseuds/lady_dorkula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Is this just a bad/good dream or is it a cherished memory? Perhaps both. Perhaps none. That is, if you ask Joker. He wouldn't know either. Maybe it's best if you decide for yourself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dreams of (Re)birth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joker dreams. </p>
<p>Of Cold. </p>
<p>Darkness. </p>
<p>Enveloping darkness all around him.</p>
<p>Blacker than the blackest night. A knight. An otherworldly creature. A monster? Or perhaps salvation. Yes. He cannot see it clearly but he can feel it closing in, and welcomes it with longing arms wide open, as if he’s been all alone in this numbing nothingness for an eternity, waiting for “it” to finally come. </p>
<p>His skin crawls at the agonizing first caress, like prickles grazing against his ghostly, almost translucent naked flesh with viciously loving intent, leaving soothing warmth in their wake as blood, as thick and black as tar, pools at the slashes while the thorns dig deeper and deeper, sweet and sickening. </p>
<p>He’s like an animal stuck in a thorn bush come alive, carnivorous and hungry, writhing and winding around its prey and tearing it to shreds as if trying to invade it, consume it piece by piece, layer by fleshy layer, gentle in its harsh torment. The visceral pain sets his whole body ablaze. The tender skin rips apart with ease, stripped off his shredded muscles as the prickles bury inside his fragile but immaterial shell and gooey insides, reaching all the way down to hard bone where the thorns leave their marks, etched like an artist’s signature that will remain there for decades, centuries, millennia after his time has come and gone. </p>
<p>The searing pain makes him feel more alive than he’s ever been before in his life, or whatever his existence was until now. Maybe he’s been dead all along and his life was just about to begin. Born from the mangled remains of his old self, he will rise from the ashes like a phoenix. </p>
<p>He daren’t move lest he breaks the spell and the darkness retracts, and with it the warmth of his beloved torturer and savior, his destroyer and creator. He doesn’t want to feel cold again. Never again. </p>
<p>And he never will. He’s certain of it, for the first time in his non-existence, as the dark vines crawl inside his chest and wrap around his rotting ashen heart, sinking its sharp thorns into the dead husk at last. There’s no more pain.</p>
<p>Only bliss. </p>
<p>Only love.</p>
<p>His heart beats for the first time, infused with life, as pitch-black thorns drag across his face, carving a crimson red smile.</p>
<p>He wakes up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Usually I write longer (light-hearted, sexy, plotty) pieces, but I was in a Mood™ for something surreal, disturbing and visceral. I'm kinda sorta very proud of it. Hope it was still an enjoyable read tho, short as it was. Let's see when I'll be back on my usual shtick, but sadly, I'm not the boss of me. Kudos/comments (if you liked it ofc) are always appreciated! 🥰</p></blockquote></div></div>
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